Of all the towers and castles which belonged to the old Border reivers, there was none which was better suited to its purpose than the ancient house of Harden. It stood, as the house which succeeded it stands to this day, at the head of a deep and narrow glen, looking down on the Borthwick Water, not far from where it joins the Teviot.
It belonged to Walter Scott, "Wat o' Harden," as he was called, a near kinsman3 and faithful ally of the "Bold Buccleuch," who lived just over the hill, at Branksome.
Wat was a noted4 freebooter. Never was raid or foray but he was well to the front, and when, as generally happened, the raid or foray resulted in a drove of English cattle finding their way over the Liddesdale hills, and down into Teviotdale, the Master of Harden had no difficulty in guarding his share of the spoil. The entrance to his glen was so narrow, and its sides so steep and rocky, that he had only to drive the tired beasts into it, and set a strong guard at the lower end, and then he and his retainers could take things easily for a time, and live in plenty, till some fine day the beef would be done, and his wife, Dame5 Mary, whom folk named the "Flower of Yarrow" in her youth, would serve him up a pair of spurs underneath6 the great silver cover, as a hint that the larder7 was empty, and that it was full time that he should mount and ride for more.
'Twas little wonder that his five sons grew up to love this free roving life, to which they had always been accustomed, and that they took ill with the change when, in 1603, at the union of the Crowns, Scotland and England became one country, and King James determined8 to put down raiding and reiving with a high hand.
It was difficult at first, but gradually a change came about. Courts of justice were established in the Border towns, where law-breakers were tried, and promptly9 punished, and the heads of the most powerful clans10 banded themselves together to put down bloodshed and robbery, and a time of quietness bade fair to settle down on the distressed11 district.
To the old folk, tired of incessant12 fighting, this change was welcome; but the younger men found their occupation gone, while as yet they had no thought of turning to some more peaceable pursuit. The young Scotts of Harden were no exceptions to this rule, and William, the eldest13, found matters, after a time, quite unbearable14. Moreover, his father's retainers were growing discontented with their quiet life, and scanty15 fare, for beef was not so plentiful16 at Harden now that Border law forbade its being stolen from England; so, without telling either his father or his brothers of his intention, he took a band of chosen men, and rode over, in the gray light of an early spring morning, to the house of William Hogg of Fauldshope, one of the chief retainers of the family.
William was a man of great bravery, and so fierce and strong that he had earned for himself the name of the "Wild Boar of Fauldshope."
He was still in bed when the party from Harden arrived, but rose hastily when they knocked. Great was his astonishment17 when he saw his young master with a band of armed men behind him.
"What cheer, Master?" he said, "and what doest thou out at this time of day? Faith, it minds me of the good old times, when some rider would come in haste to my door, to tell me that Auld1 Buccleuch had given orders to warn the water."[3]
[3] To call the countrymen to arms.
"Heaven send that those times come back again," said young Harden piously18, "else shall we soon be turned into a pack of old wives. The changes that have come to Harden be more than I can stand, Willie. Not so many years past we were aye as busy as a swarm19 of bees. When we had a mind, and had nought20 else to do, we leaped on our horses and headed towards Cumberland. There were ever some kine to be driven, or a house or two to be burned, or some poor widow to be avenged21, or some prisoner to be released. So things went right merrily, and the larder was always full. But now that this cursed peace hath come, and King Jamie reigns22 in London—plague on the man for leaving this bonnie land!—the place is as quiet as the grave, and the horses grow fat, and our men grow lean, and they quarrel and fight among themselves all day, an' all because they have nought else to do. Moreover, the pastures round Harden grow rough for want of eating. We need a drove of cattle to keep them down. So I have e'en come over to take counsel with thee, Will, for thou art a man after mine own heart, and I have brought a few of the knaves23 at my back. What think ye, man, is there no one we could rob? Fain would I ride over the Border to harry24 the men of Cumberland, but thou knowest how it is. My kinsman of Buccleuch is Warden25 of the Marches, and responsible for keeping the peace, and sore dule and woe26 would come to my father's house were I to stir up strife27 now that we are supposed to be all one land."
"Ay, by my troth," said Will of Fauldshope, "the fat would be in the fire if we were to ride into Cumberland nowadays; but, Master, the Warden hath no right to interfere28 with lawful29 quarrels. There is the Laird o' Elibank, for instance, old Sir Juden. Deil take me if anyone could blame us if we paid him a visit. For all the world knows how often some cows, or a calf30 or two, have vanished on a dark night from the hillsides at Harden, and though a Murray hath never yet been ta'en red-handed, it is easy to know where the larders31 o' Elibank get their plenishing. Turn about is fair play, say I, and now that the pastures at Harden are empty, 'tis time that we thought of taking our revenge. Sir Juden was a wily man in his youth, and sly as a pole-cat, but men say that nowadays he hath grown doited,[4] and does nought but sit with his wife and his three ugly daughters from morning till night. All the same, he hath managed to feather his nest right well. 'Twas told me at Candlemas that he hath no less than three hundred fat cattle grazing in the meadows that lie around Elibank."
[4] In his dotage33.
Willie o' Harden slapped his thigh34.
"That settles the matter," he cried, with a ring in his voice at the thought of the adventure that lay before him. "Three hundred kye are far too many for one old man to herd35. Let him turn his mind to his three ill-faured[5] daughters, whom no man will wed36 because of their looks. This very night we will ride over into Ettrick, and lift a wheen[6] o' them. My father's Tower of Oakwood lies not far from Elibank, and when once we have driven the beasts into the Oakwood byres, 'twill take old Sir Juden all his time to prove that they ever belonged to him."
[5] Plain-looking.
[6] Few.
Late that afternoon Sir Juden Murray was having a daunder[7] in the low-lying haughs which lay along the banks of the Tweed, close to his old tower. His hands were clasped behind his back, under his coat tails, and his head was sunk low on his breast. He appeared to be deep in meditation37, and so indeed he was. There was a matter which had been pressing heavily on his mind for some time, and it troubled him more every day.
[7] Gentle walk.
The fact was, that it was a sore anxiety to him how he was going to provide for his three daughters, for Providence38 had endowed them with such very plain features that it seemed extremely unlikely that any gay wooer would ever stop before the door of Elibank. Meg, the eldest, was especially plain-looking. She was pale and thin, with colourless eyes, and a long pointed39 nose, and, to make matters worse, she had such a very wide mouth that she was known throughout the length and breadth of four counties as "Muckle-Mou'ed Meg o' Elibank."
No wonder her father sighed as he thought of her, for, in spite of his greed and his slyness, Sir Juden was an affectionate father, as fathers went in those days, and the lot of unmarried ladies of the upper class, at that time, was a hard one.
He was roused from his thoughts by someone shouting to him from the top of the neighbouring hill. It was one of his men-at-arms, and the old man stood for a moment with his hand at his ear, to listen to the fellow's words. They came faintly down the wind.
"I fear evil betakes us, Sir Juden, for far in the distance I hear bugles40 sounding at Oakwood Tower. I would have said that the Scotts of Harden were riding, were it not for Buccleuch and his new laws."
Sir Juden shook his grizzled head. "Little cares Auld Wat o' Harden, or any o' his kind, either for Warden or laws, notwithstanding that the Warden is his own kith and kin2. As like as not they have heard tell o' my bonnie drove of cattle, and would fain have some of them. Run, sirrah, and warn our friends; no one can find fault with us if we fight in self-defence."
No sooner had the first man disappeared to do his master's bidding, than another approached, running down the hillside as fast as he could. He was quite out of breath when he came up to the Laird, and no wonder, for he had run all the way from Philip-Cairn, one of the highest hills in the neighbourhood.
"Oh, Sir Juden," he gasped42, "lose no time, but arm well, and warn well, if thou wouldst keep thine own. From the top of the hill I saw armed men in the distance, and it was not long ere I knew the knaves. 'Tis a band of reivers led by the young Knight43 of Harden, and, besides his own men, he hath with him the Wild Boar of Fauldshope, and all the Hoggs and the Brydons."
"By my troth, but thou bringest serious tidings," said Sir Juden, thoroughly44 alarmed, for he knew what deadly fighters Willie o' Harden and the Boar of Fauldshope were, and, without wasting words, he hurried away to his tower to make the best preparations he could for the coming fray45.
He knew that even with all the friends who would muster46 round him, the men of Plora, and Traquair, and Ashiestiel, and Hollowlee, Harden's force would far outnumber his, and his only hope lay in outwitting the enemy, who were better known for their bravery than for their guile47.
So when all his friends were assembled, instead of stationing them near the castle, he led them out to a steep hill-side, some miles away, where he knew the Scotts must pass with the cattle, on their way to Oakwood. As the night was dark, he bade each of them fasten a white feather in his cap, so that, when they were fighting, they would know who were their friends and who their foes48, and he would not allow them to stand about on the hill-side, but made them lie down hidden in the heather until he gave them the signal to rise.
He knew well what he was doing, for he was as cunning as a fox, and neither the Knight of Harden nor the Wild Boar of Fauldshope, brave though they were, were a match for him.
They, on their part, thought things were going splendidly, for when they rode up in the darkness of midnight to the Elibank haughs, all was quiet; not so much as a dog barked. It was not difficult to collect a goodly drove of fat cattle, and, as long as the animals were driven along a familiar path, all went well. But all the world knows the saying about "a cow in an unca loaning,"[8] and it held good in this case. The moment the animals' heads were turned to the hills that lay between Elibank and Oakwood the trouble began. They broke in confusion, and ran hither and thither49 in the darkness, lowing and crying in great bewilderment.
[8] A cow in a strange lane or milking-place.
"Faith, but this will never do," exclaimed Will of Fauldshope; "if the beasts bellow50 at this rate, they will awaken51 old Sir Juden and his sons, and they will set on in pursuit. Not that that would matter much, but we may as well do the job with as little bloodshed as possible. See, I and my men will take a dozen or so, and push on over the hill. If once the way be trodden the rest will follow."
So Will of Fauldshope and his men went their way cheerily up the hill, and over its crest52, and down the other side, on their way to Oakwood, with a handful of cattle before them, little recking that Sir Juden and his sons, whom they thought to be sleeping peacefully at Elibank, were crouching53 among the heather with their friends and retainers, or that they had ridden over a few of them on their way, and that, as soon as they were past, and out of earshot, and young Harden came on with the main body of the stolen cattle, the Murrays would rise and set on him with sudden fierceness, and after a sharp and bloody54 conflict would take him prisoner, and kill many a brave man.
Nor would Will have heard of the fight at all, until he had arrived at Oakwood, and his suspicions had been aroused by the fact that young Harden did not follow him, had it not been for a trusty fellow called Andrew o' Langhope, who was knocked down in the fight, and who thought that he could serve his master best by lying still. So he pretended to be dead, and lay motionless until the fray was over, and poor young Scott bound hand and foot, and carried off in triumph by the Murrays; then he sprang to his feet, and ran off in pursuit of Will of Fauldshope as fast as his legs could carry him.
Now, if there was one man on earth whom the Wild Boar of Fauldshope and his men loved, it was the young Knight of Harden. He was so handsome, and brave, and debonair55, a very leader among men, that I ween there was dire56 confusion among them when they heard Andrew o' Langhope's tale. A great oath fell from Will's lips as he threw off his jerkin and helmet, to ease his horse, and turned and galloped57 over the hill again, followed by all his company.
But in spite of their haste they were too late. The dawn was breaking as they reined58 up on the green in front of Elibank, and the gray morning light showed them that the stout59 oak door was closed, and the great iron gates made fast. By now young Harden was safe in the lowest dungeon60, and right well they knew that only once again would he breathe the fresh air of heaven, and that would be when he was led out to die under the great dule-tree on the green.
Bitter tears of grief and rage filled the Boar of Fauldshope's eyes at the thought, but no more could be done, except to ride over to Harden, and tell old Sir Walter Scott of the fate that had befallen his eldest son.
"Juden, Juden." It was the Lady of Elibank's voice, and it woke her husband out of the only sound sleep he had had, for he had been terribly troubled with bad dreams all night: dreams not, as one would have imagined, of the fight which he had passed through, but of his eldest daughter Meg, and her sad lack of wooers.
"What is it?" he asked drowsily61, as he looked across the room to where his worthy62 spouse63, Dame Margaret Murray, already up and dressed, stood looking out of the narrow casement64.
"I was just wondering," she said slowly, "what thou intendest to do with that poor young man?"
"Do," cried Sir Juden, wide awake now, and starting up in astonishment at the question, for his wife was not wont65 to be so pitiful towards any of his prisoners. "By'r Lady, but there is only one thing that I shall do. Hang the rogue66, of course, and that right speedily."
"What," said the Lady of Elibank, and she turned and looked at her angry husband with an expression which seemed to say that at that moment he had taken leave of his senses; "hang the young Knight of Harden, when I have three ill-favoured daughters to marry off my hands! I wonder at ye, Juden! I aye thought ye had a modicum67 of common sense, and could look a long way in front of ye, but at this moment I am sorely inclined to doubt it. Mark my words, ye'll never again have such a chance as this. For, besides Harden, he is heir to some of the finest lands in Ettrick Forest.[9] There is Kirkhope, and Oakwood, and Bowhill. Think of our Meg; would ye not like to see the lassie mistress of these? And well I wot ye might, for the youth is a spritely young fellow, though given to adventure, as what brave young man is not? And I trow that he would put up with an ill-featured wife, rather than lose his life on our hanging-tree."
[9] These lands were sold to the Scotts of Buccleuch sometime afterwards, and the Duke of Buccleuch is the present owner.
Sir Juden looked at his wife for full three minutes in silence, and then he broke into a loud laugh. "By my soul, thou art right, Margaret," he said. "Thou wert born with the wisdom of Solomon, though men would scarce think it to look at thee." And he began to dress himself, without more ado.
Less than two hours afterwards, the door of the dungeon where young Scott was confined was thrown open with a loud and grating noise, and three men-at-arms appeared, and requested the prisoner, all bound as he was, to follow them.
Willie obeyed without a word. He had dared, and had been defeated, and now he must pay the penalty that the times required, and like a brave man he would pay it uncomplainingly, but I warrant that, as he followed the men up the steep stone steps, his heart was heavy within him, and his thoughts were dwelling68 on the bonnie braes that lay around Harden, where he had so often played when he was a bairn, with his mother, the gentle "Flower of Yarrow," watching over him, and which he knew he would never see again.
But, to his astonishment, instead of being led straight out to the "dule-tree," as he had expected, he was taken into the great hall, and stationed close to one of the narrow windows. A strange sight met his eyes.
The hall was full of armed men, who were looking about them with broad smiles of amusement, while, on a dais at the far end of the hall, were seated, in two large armchairs, his captor of the night before, Sir Juden Murray, and a severe-looking lady, in a wondrous69 head-dress, and a stiff silken gown, whom he took to be his wife.
Between them, blushing and hanging her head as if the ordeal70 was too much for her, was the plainest-looking maiden71 he had ever seen in his life. She was thin and ill-thriven-looking, very different from the buxom72 lassies he was accustomed to see: her eyes were colourless; her nose was long and pointed, and the size of her mouth would alone have proclaimed her to be the worthy couple's eldest daughter, Muckle-Mou'ed Meg.
Near the dais stood her two younger sisters. They were plain-looking girls also, but hardly so plain-looking as Meg, and they were laughing and whispering to one another, as if much amused by what was going on.
Sir Juden cleared his throat and crossed one thin leg slowly over the other, while he looked keenly at his prisoner from under his bushy eyebrows73.
"Good morrow, young sir," he said at last; "so you and your friends thought that ye would like a score or two o' the Elibank kye. By whose warrant, may I ask, did ye ride, seeing that in those days peace is declared on the Border, and anyone who breaks it, breaks it at his own risk?"
"I rode at my own peril," answered the young man haughtily74, for he did not like to be questioned in this manner, "and it is on mine own head that the blame must fall. Thou knowest that right well, Sir Juden, so it seems to me but waste of words to parley75 here."
"So thou knowest the fate that thy rash deed brings on thee," said Sir Juden hastily, his temper, never of the sweetest, rising rapidly at the young man's coolness. He would fain have hanged him without more ado, did prudence76 permit; and it was hard to sit still and bargain with him.
"So thou knowest that I have the right to hang thee, without further words," he continued; "and, by my faith, many a man would do it, too, without delay. But thou art young, William, and young blood must aye be roving, that I would fain remember, and so I offer thee another chance."
Here the Lord of Elibank paused and glanced at his wife, to see if he had said the right thing, for it was she who had arranged the scene beforehand, and had schooled her husband in the part he was to play.
Meanwhile young Harden, happening to meet Meg Murray's eyes, and puzzled by the look, half wistful, half imploring77, which he saw there, glanced hastily out of the little casement beside which he was standing41, and received a rude shock, in spite of all his courage, when he saw a strong rope, with a noose78 at the end of it, dangling79 from a stout branch of the dule-tree on the green, while a man-at-arms stood kicking the ground idly beside it, apparently80 waiting till he should be called on to act as executioner.
"So the old rascal81 is going to hang me after all," he said to himself; "then what, in Our Lady's name, means this strange mummery, and how comes that ill-favoured maiden to look at me as if her life depended on mine?"
At that moment, old Sir Juden, reassured82 by a nod from Dame Margaret, went on with his speech.
"I will therefore offer thee another chance, I say, and, moreover, I will throw a herd of the cattle which thou wert so anxious to steal into the bargain, if thou wilt83 promise, on thy part, to wed my daughter Meg within the space of four days."
Here the wily old man stopped, and the Lady of Elibank nodded her head again, while, as for young Harden, for the moment he was too astonished to speak.
So this was the meaning of it all. He was to be forced to marry the ugliest maiden in the south of Scotland in order to save his life. The vision of his mother's beauty rose before him, and the contrast between the Flower of Yarrow and Muckle-Mou'ed Meg o' Elibank struck him so sharply that he cried out in anger, "By my troth, but this thing shall never be. So do thy worst, Sir Juden."
"Think well before ye choose," said that knight, more disappointed than he would have cared to own at his prisoner's words, "for there are better things in this world than beauty, young man. Many a beautiful woman hath been but a thorn in her husband's side, and forbye[10] that, hast thou not learned in the Good Book—if ever ye find time to read it, which I fear me will be but seldom—that a prudent84 wife is more to be sought after than a bonnie one? And though my Meg here is mayhap no' sae well-favoured as the lassies over in Borthwick Water, or Teviotdale, I warrant there is not one of them who hath proved such a good daughter, or whose nature is so kind and generous."
[10] Besides.
Still young Harden hesitated, and glanced from the lady, who, poor thing, had hidden her face in her hands, to the gallows85, and from the gallows back again to the lady.
Was ever mortal man in such a plight86? Here he was, young, handsome, rich, and little more than four-and-twenty, and he must either lose his life on the green yonder, or marry a damsel whom everyone mocked at for her looks.
"If only I could be alone with her for five minutes," he thought to himself, "to see what she looks like, when there is no one to peep and peer at her. The maiden hath not a chance in the midst of this mannerless crowd, and methought her eyes were open and honest, as they looked into mine a little while ago."
At that moment Meg Murray lifted her head once more, and gazed round her like a stag at bay. Poor lassie, it had been bad enough to be jeered87 at by her father, and flouted88 and scolded by her mother, because of the unfortunately large mouth with which Providence had endowed her, without being put up for sale, as it were, in the presence of all her father's retainers, and find that the young man to whom she had been offered chose to suffer death rather than have her for a bride.
It was the bitterest moment of all her life, and, had she known it, it was the moment that fixed89 her destiny.
For young Willie of Harden saw that look, and something in it stirred his pity. Besides, he noticed that her pale face was sweet and innerly,[11] and her gray eyes clear and true.
[11] Confiding90.
"Hold," he cried, just as Sir Juden, whose patience was quite exhausted91, gave a signal to his men-at-arms to seize the prisoner, and hurry him off to the gallows, "I have changed my mind, and I accept the conditions. But I call all men to witness that I accept not the hand of this noble maiden of necessity, or against my will. I am a Scott, and, had I been minded to, I could have faced death. But I crave92 the honour of her hand from her father with all humility93, and here I vow94, before ye all, to do my best to be to her a loyal and a true man."
Loud cheers, and much jesting, followed this speech, and men would have crowded round the young Knight and made much of him, but he pushed his way in grim silence up the hall to where Meg o' Elibank stood trembling by her delighted parents.
She greeted him with a look which set him thinking of a bird which sees its cage flung open, and I wot that, though he did not know it, at that moment he began to love her.
Be that as it may, his words to Sir Juden were short and gruff. "Sir," he asked, "hast thou a priest in thy company? For, if so, let him come hither and finish what we have begun. I would fain spend this night in my own Tower of Oakwood."
Sir Juden and his lady were not a little taken aback at this sudden demand, for, now that the matter was settled to their satisfaction, they would have liked to have married their eldest daughter with more state and ceremony.
"There's no need of such haste," began Dame Margaret, with a look at her lord, "if your word is given, and the Laird satisfied. The morn, or even the next day might do. The lassie's providing[12] must be gathered together, for I would not like it said that a bride went out of Elibank with nothing but the clothes she stood in."
[12] Trousseau.
But young Harden interrupted her with small courtesy. "Let her be married now, or not at all," he said, and as the heir of Harden as a prospective95 son-in-law was very different from the heir of Harden as a prisoner, she feared to say him nay96, lest he went back on his word.
So a priest was sent for, and in great haste William Scott of Harden was wedded97 to Margaret Murray of Elibank, and then they two set off alone, over the hills to the old Tower of Oakwood—he, with high thoughts of anger and revenge in his heart for the trick that had been played him;—she, poor thing, wondering wistfully what the future held in store for her.
The day was cold and wet, and halfway98 over the Hangingshaw Height he heard a stifled99 sob100 behind him, and, looking over his shoulder, he saw his little woebegone bride trying in vain with her numbed101 fingers to guide her palfrey, which was floundering in a moss-hole, to firmer footing.
The sight would have touched a harder heart than Willie of Harden's, for he was a true son of his mother, and the Flower of Yarrow was aye kind-hearted; and suddenly all his anger vanished.
"God save us, lassie, but there's nothing to greet[13] about," he said, turning his horse and taking her reins102 from her poor stiff fingers, and, though the words were rough, his voice was strangely gentle. "'Tis not thy fault that things have fallen out thus, and if I be a trifle angered, in good faith it is not with thee. Come," and, as he spoke103, he stooped down and lifted her bodily from her saddle, and swung her up in front of him on his great black horse. "Leave that stupid beast of thine alone; 'twill find its way back to Elibank soon enough, I warrant. We will go over the hill quicker in this fashion, and thou wilt have more shelter from the rain. There is many a good nag32 on the hills at Harden, and, when she hears of our wedding, I doubt not but that my mother will have one trained for thee."
[13] Cry.
Poor Meg caught her breath. She did not feel so much afraid of her husband now that she was close to him, and his arm was round her; besides, the shelter from the rain was very pleasant; but still her heart misgave104 her.
"Thy Lady Mother, she is very beautiful," she faltered105, "and doubtless she looked for beauty in her sons' wives."
Then, for ever and a day, all resentment106 went out of Willie of Harden's heart, and pure love and pity entered into it.
"If her sons' wives are but good women, my mother will be well content," he said, and with that he kissed her.
And I trow that that kiss marked the beginning of Meg Scott's happiness.
For happy she always was. She was aye plain-looking—nothing on earth could alter her features—but with great happiness comes a look of marvellous contentment, which can beautify the most homely107 face, and she was such a clever housekeeper108 (no one could salt beef as she could), and so modest and gentle, that her handsome husband grew to love her more and more, and I wot that her face became to him the bonniest and the sweetest face in the whole world.
Sons and daughters were born to them, strapping109 lads and fair-faced lassies, and, in after years, when old Wat o' Harden died, and Sir William reigned110 in his stead, in the old house at the head of the glen, he was wont to declare that for prudence, and virtue111, and honour, there was no woman on earth to be compared with his own good wife Meg.
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auld
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| adj.老的，旧的 | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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kinsman
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| n.男亲属 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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dame
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| n.女士 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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larder
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| n.食物贮藏室，食品橱 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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clans
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| 宗族( clan的名词复数 )； 氏族； 庞大的家族； 宗派 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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16
plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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17
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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18
piously
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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19
swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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20
nought
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| n.／adj.无，零 | |
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21
avenged
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| v.为…复仇，报…之仇( avenge的过去式和过去分词 )；为…报复 | |
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22
reigns
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| n.君主的统治( reign的名词复数 )；君主统治时期；任期；当政期 | |
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23
knaves
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| n.恶棍，无赖( knave的名词复数 )；（纸牌中的）杰克 | |
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24
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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25
warden
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| n.监察员，监狱长，看守人，监护人 | |
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26
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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27
strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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28
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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29
lawful
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| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
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30
calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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31
larders
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| n.（家中的）食物贮藏室，食物橱( larder的名词复数 ) | |
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32
nag
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| v.(对…)不停地唠叨；n.爱唠叨的人 | |
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33
dotage
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| n.年老体衰；年老昏聩 | |
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34
thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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35
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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36
wed
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| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
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37
meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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38
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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39
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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40
bugles
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| 妙脆角，一种类似薯片但做成尖角或喇叭状的零食； 号角( bugle的名词复数 )； 喇叭； 匍匐筋骨草； （装饰女服用的）柱状玻璃（或塑料）小珠 | |
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41
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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42
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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43
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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44
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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45
fray
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| v.争吵；打斗；磨损，磨破；n.吵架；打斗 | |
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46
muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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47
guile
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| n.诈术 | |
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48
foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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49
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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50
bellow
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| v.吼叫，怒吼；大声发出，大声喝道 | |
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51
awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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52
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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53
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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54
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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55
debonair
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| adj.殷勤的，快乐的 | |
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56
dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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57
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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58
reined
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| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
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60
dungeon
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| n.地牢，土牢 | |
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61
drowsily
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| adv.睡地，懒洋洋地，昏昏欲睡地 | |
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62
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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63
spouse
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| n.配偶(指夫或妻) | |
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64
casement
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| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
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65
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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66
rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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67
modicum
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| n.少量，一小份 | |
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68
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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69
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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70
ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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71
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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72
buxom
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| adj.（妇女）丰满的，有健康美的 | |
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73
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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74
haughtily
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| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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75
parley
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| n.谈判 | |
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76
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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77
imploring
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| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
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78
noose
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| n.绳套，绞索（刑）；v.用套索捉；使落入圈套；处以绞刑 | |
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79
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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80
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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81
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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82
reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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83
wilt
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| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
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84
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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85
gallows
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| n.绞刑架，绞台 | |
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86
plight
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| n.困境，境况，誓约，艰难；vt.宣誓，保证，约定 | |
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87
jeered
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| v.嘲笑( jeer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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88
flouted
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| v.藐视，轻视( flout的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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89
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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90
confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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91
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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92
crave
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| vt.渴望得到，迫切需要，恳求，请求 | |
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93
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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94
vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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95
prospective
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| adj.预期的，未来的，前瞻性的 | |
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96
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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97
wedded
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| adj.正式结婚的；渴望…的，执著于…的v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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98
halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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99
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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100
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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101
numbed
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| v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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102
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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103
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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104
misgave
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| v.使（某人的情绪、精神等）疑虑，担忧，害怕( misgive的过去式 ) | |
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105
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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106
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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107
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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108
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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109
strapping
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| adj. 魁伟的, 身材高大健壮的 n. 皮绳或皮带的材料, 裹伤胶带, 皮鞭 动词strap的现在分词形式 | |
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110
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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111
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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